


In Search of Warmth

by odilette



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daryl is Ace, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-14 11:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8011900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odilette/pseuds/odilette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There was something different in the air, something on the edge of precipitation. Whether that was good or bad, he still couldn’t tell."</p>
<p>As winter approaches, the group of survivors search for shelter and hope, and two worlds collide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Precipitation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Graph_You_Look_At](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Graph_You_Look_At/gifts).



> Hey, look, I wrote a fic! It currently functions as a standalone, but I have more written and would like to keep adding. Thanks, Hann, for encouraging me to work creatively again.
> 
> Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own TWD in any way, shape, or form. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments/feedback/etc is always appreciated. Cheers! -A

It started around the time the frost would stay on the ground a little too long for anyone's taste and the sun escaped beneath the horizon earlier than they were ever ready for. November, December, those were just words that held no real meaning to them anymore. The cold, however…that was tangible, that was real. 

The group had cleared a house, another lodging for a night, the continual search for reliable shelter expanding into a dreaded forever. They were all tired, all just at the edge of true hunger, their stomachs whispering about their next meal despite having just had a silent dinner huddled around the small fire Rick had allowed in the fireplace. Some nights were better than others; this one was one of the worse ones. Dejection hung on their bones, their bodies simultaneously heavy and empty.  
After dinner they had figured out sleeping arrangements, as per usual. Lori always got first priority for couches, her growing belly a reminder both of the miracles of human life and the tenuous nature of mortality. Rick was too paranoid to let the group spread out into bedrooms, so the rest would make do on the floor. The evening passed unremarkably; secure the doors, check for weak spots, scavenge for pillows, blankets, and any clothes or other items that could prove useful, then set up personal nests. They were a team now; they knew how to work together.

The fire eventually dimmed to coals, and then to embers, a loss everyone felt. It was starting to get cold. There was a certain fear that came along with that fact that made the need for a permanent residence even more dire and yet seemingly even less reachable.

Most everyone had managed to drift into an exhaustion-induced sleep. Even Rick, stationed closest to the door, had closed his eyes. Only Daryl remained sitting, still not ready to let his guard down for the night. There was something different in the air, something on the edge of precipitation. Whether that was good or bad, he still couldn’t tell.

That’s when he noticed the movement.

“You’re shivering,” he observed, glancing down at Carol before returning his gaze to the now-absent fire. 

“Well aren’t you the detective,” she shot back, pushing herself up to sitting, trying to keep the betraying tremors of her body out of her voice. It didn’t work so well. She glanced over at Daryl before taking her eyes to the focus of his stare. “I’ll be fine,” she muttered.

Daryl made a noise somewhere in-between a grunt and a scoff, eyes boring holes into the invasive darkness.

“What?” Carol shot back.

“Nothin’,” Daryl returned.

They steeped in the silence, feeling more than ever the rift that those doors at the barn had opened between them. Words unspoken, emotions kept under lock in key, pain they could not share with each other—were not ready to share with each other. The foot between them stretched into miles, charged with the feral electricity of their buried pain. It had started to get a little better; they could be in the same space without Daryl going off or Carol starting to cry. It didn’t make it any less tough, though.

“I—” Daryl started, the word dying in his throat before he could move on to the next. He heard rather than saw Carol shift her head to look at him. He looked down at his knees, tucked neatly into his chest. Another beat passed.

“I’m sorry.” 

A breath. 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, that I blamed you, that I—” he was prepared to go on, he had been meaning to say it for days, since his callous words had exited his mouth, really, but a hand on his knee made him pause. 

Carol’s thumb traced small circles on his rough jeans.

“I know,” she whispered. And for a moment, they just sat there, letting their thoughts settle, Carol’s thumb creating a lulling calm.

“Y’know, I’m cold too,” Daryl offered up, which got him a light slap where Carol’s thumb had been.

“No, I’m serious, I am. What I mean is—” Daryl fumbled, searching the right words. “We’re both cold, so maybe, we could, I don’t know, sleep tog—fall asleep together, y’know…” he trailed off, afraid he had made an utter fool of himself. “For warmth purposes.” Although the darkness obscured his face, he still motioned to duck his head under his arm in an effort to hide from his blunder.

“Okay,” Carol replied, surprisingly nonplussed by the comment Daryl had assumed would drive her back under her own covers.

“Really?” he asked, his whole body lifting in posture.

“Really. I said I was fine but I am also really cold, and I’m not giving up a chance for some extra warmth,” Carol replied, starting to gather her blankets and combine them with Daryl’s. “Tell me, Mr. Dixon, are you a big spoon or a little spoon?”  
Carol could have sworn Daryl sputtered before giving a long-drawn out _ummmm_.

“Okay, well how about I get to be little spoon for tonight since I’m the shivering one,” Carol offered up, scooting in front of Daryl, who just silently nodded in response. Carol lay down, gathering blankets to cover up with. She glanced back at Daryl, who seemed unsure of how to handle himself.

“C’mere,” she whispered, patting the space behind her. Daryl was not necessarily someone Carol would categorize as delicate, but the way he maneuvered himself to get behind her made him look like he was afraid the whole world was about to shatter.

It didn’t.

As the two folded into each other, they couldn’t help but feel an internal warmth spread. Maybe the cold was survivable after all.


	2. Gestation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a short filler chapter, but I promise I'm working on more to come. Hopefully it will happen sooner, I've been busy with weddings, a birthday, and school etc.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave comments/feedback etc. I'm starting to get hyped (and REALLY nervous) for Season 7 to air. Hopefully that will inspire me to generate more fluff/angst for our heroes ;) Cheers! -A

That first morning, Daryl was awake and out patrolling before the sun rose. The lack of heat when she woke up cued Carol into this fact, and although she longed for that heat to still be present, she knew that she had slept better than she had in weeks, hell maybe months, maybe even years, with Daryl sheltering her from the cold. 

They didn’t speak about their evening, but there was a warmth that emanated from the two, one that touched everyone in the group. The desolation from the evening before didn’t seem so daunting in the light of day. A spark of hope had managed to catch.

That evening, after the fire had died and sleep had cradled the group, Daryl wordlessly encircled Carol in his arms once again and nuzzled the back of her head before letting himself drift off into a place that for once felt safe.

***

By the end of the week, Daryl stopped leaving before anyone in the group could wake up. A small tussle in his gut still urged him to flee before the others could laugh at him for showing such a weak spot for another human being, but the steady up and down of Carol’s chest against his kept him tethered, kept him safe.

And no one laughed. 

Instead, he was greeted with warm, knowing smiles, and that alone. The corners of his lips seemed to want to dance across his face.

“Mornin’,” she muttered, rolling over to face him, a warm grin lighting up her face.

“Mornin’,” he replied, letting the warmth that Carol had brought him in bits and pieces since the Turn grow until he found himself returning her smile.

***  
Evenings became reserved for each other’s arms after that day. Sometimes Carol would end up in Daryl’s arms, sometimes Daryl would end up in Carol’s. There was always an unspoken awareness of who needed what on any given day.

And they would talk. Sometimes with the whole group, sometimes in hushed whispers just for the two of them. Some days they would just listen. There was something about building a history together that kept the hunger and the cold at bay.

No matter what, they had each other.


End file.
